Checkmate
by Planet of Hats
Summary: Kirk notices Spock's half-smiles. Also, chess games. Light slash.


Oneshot for now. My attempt at writing something lightly slashy and believable. Set in the first few weeks after Jim becomes the captain. So you know... they're still all uncertain around each other and such. I might extend this at a later date.

K/S... very light K/S.

* * *

The first time Jim saw Spock smile, he'd thought it was a trick of the light.

He remembered that he had been talking to Chekov- something trivial and unimportant, though Jim thought it might have had something to do with apples - and Chekov had laughed over something he said. Jim wasn't terribly sure of what it was, except he knew it was probably something awesome and funny and basically like mostly everything he came up with. And for whatever reason, he felt like glancing around the bridge, and the first thing that caught his eye was Spock watching him, the corner of his lips turned up just a fraction.

He'd blinked, and his first officer was suddenly looking over someplace else, his face neutral and blank and basically normal. In fact, moments later, Jim was pretty sure he imagined the whole thing.

Except he was also sure he didn't.

The second time was more accidental. He'd entered the lift, staring at the datapad he had in his hand and grumbling about the amount of Starfleet red tape he kept having to wade through to get something as simple as getting the crew's uniforms washed properly. Jim vaguely remembered his diatribe involved a long string of profanity. He also remembered thinking that he was alone in the lift, and that he had gotten quite loud.

When he'd finally looked up from his datapad, he felt like his intestines had hit warp 4 and were now kind of just struggling up and tangling themselves in his stomach. Spock was standing there, looking supremely unconcerned that his captain had just verbally abused Starfleet rules and regulations right in front of him.

"How very unprofessional," the Vulcan had said, in that kind of condescending voice Jim had gotten used to. Still. He gaped at his first officer.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Spock had raised an eyebrow, looking as if he would shrug his shoulders, if he were into that sort of thing. "I found it needless to interrupt." The sloop of his shoulders and his expression said silently, _Besides, what could I say?_

Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes, then wondered why he was resisting, and rolled them anyway. "You know, you could have cleared your throat or something. It would've at least saved me from…" He ran a hand through his hair and gestured a hand awkwardly. If it had been Bones, he was pretty sure the two of them would have been laughing this off. Hell, he can probably get a chuckle out of Chekov or Sulu or even Uhura- well, basically any other non-emotionally-challenged crewmember.

But this was Spock, and so the awkwardness of the situation was multiplying by the second.

"You are embarrassed?" Spock asked, tilting his head slightly as if the very notion was unfamiliar to him. Which Jim knew was probably bullshit, but he really didn't want to point it out. It was probably for the best, anyway, since whatever he was going to say died on his lips anyway.

Because then it happened- the slight curve of lips, something curious and yet somehow intriguing in the half-Vulcan's eyes.

Jim blinked, and unlike the first time, the curve didn't disappear. So his first officer probably didn't even know he was doing it.

The turbo lift stopped then, and Spock got out. Jim stared after him.

It had been a _definite _smile- possibly not as open and noticeable as a human's, but it was there, at any rate.

He didn't know why he spent much of his time afterwards mulling over the sight, feeling simultaneously amused (he wondered if it would make for blackmail material) and gleeful, much like a child who caught a glimpse of a unicorn or a fairy or something similarly rare.

Though Jim supposed his fixation made sense. After all, he told himself, Spock was a Vulcan, albeit half. Displays of emotion for him were about as likely as displays of badassery from… say, a tribble.

It was perfectly, to borrow a word from his first officer, logical.

Over the next few days, Jim found himself subconsciously attempting to elicit such a reaction from Spock. He didn't entirely realize what he was doing, actually. All Jim knew was that McCoy's neurotic freakouts, even though they were kind of endearing, were also kind of amusing, and so he started to intentionally bait the good doctor. And thus:

"_Damn it, Jim!" _

The doctor was standing at the entrance of the turbolift, looking completely furious. Or as furious as he can look, anyway, with aqua-blue hair.

Jim burst out laughing. Couldn't help it, really. And in doing so, his gaze instinctively flickered over to Spock's station. However, the Vulcan had merely glanced at Bones with mild interest, commented about how it was a "good look" for him, and then returned to monitoring several screens and buttons looking quite neutral all the while.

He didn't really know why he felt the vaguest tinge of disappointment.

After that, it was simply a matter of Jim doing something completely stupid and/or kind of funny whenever Spock was around. He couldn't have explained it if anyone asked. Most of the ship's crew waved it off as the captain being his usual immature, erratic self. Granted, he can lead very well in high-crisis situations, but when it all came down to it, the captain was young and brash and impulsive. So all his recent crazy antics were, as Bones put it, "as normal as Jim can be, anyway, the bastard." (The blue hair washed out. Eventually, anyway. And Bones spent two days walking around with a sore head.)

The captain only stopped when he realized that none of it was working. No Vulcan half-smiles were thrown his way. In the back of his mind, a distant memory formed: that of him as a child, jumping up and down and all around, hyperactively trying to catch the attention of his stern teacher.

The memory was contrasted by the one of Spock, quiet and reserved and half-smiling.

Jim wondered if he was developing a fixation.

The thought was discarded as soon as it entered his mind, however. _Fixation, what fixation? _Yet Jim realized he had to change his strategy.

He began engaging his first officer in light conversation several times.

After all, they were supposed to get to know each other, weren't they? After all the crazy shit they went through, what with the Narada and the Romulans and the older Spock telling them about their supposed friendship, it was only reasonable to at least set the standards for a professional relationship.

What Spock Prime didn't count on was the fact that Spock, once all work-related topics and duty inquiries had been exhausted and broached, was very difficult to talk to.

Not that Jim wasn't up to the challenge.

"Want to hang out?" he asked Spock once on an impulse, when everything on the ship seemed at a lull and no immediate duties were pressed upon him.

The Vulcan raised a politely incredulous eyebrow at him.

" 'Hang out?'" he repeated, and the casual slang of the words collided strangely with the precise, clear tone of his voice, so used to mouthing algorithms and cases. Jim didn't care. He glanced down the white hallway.

"Yeah. My quarters are right down there," he said, and then smiled. "Up for a game of chess?"

So began their daily routine.

Jim hadn't forgotten about the half-smiles; they lingered on the edge of his mind, a somehow reassuring thought whenever he found himself tongue-tied in front of a resolutely silent Spock. Basically, no matter how closed-off his first officer appeared, Jim took some comfort in the fact that the half-Vulcan can do something as human as a smile.

It helped that the chess turned out to be more interesting than either of them had initially expected. Jim had picked the activity because he'd thought it was something Spock would appreciate, being so intellectual and Vulcan. He didn't have any particular affection for the game. Spock, meanwhile, had not expected anything particularly mind blowing from his captain- while Spock estimated him to be a noteworthy individual, Jim was, nevertheless, human, and thus inferior in his mental capabilities.

The matches, however, usually lasted at least half an hour, and while Spock usually won, most of his pieces had usually been wiped out.

They talked of little things while they played- firstly their duties, how Jim'd like to get his hands on the idiot who'd damaged some wires operating the food replicators (Scotty had it set right in no time, but Jim had suffered three hours of starvation), how Spock was getting on with his scientific studies. Jim learned more about intermolecular splicing of alien plants than he'd ever cared to know after one chess match that ended in a stalemate.

Gradually, the focus of their conversation shifted away from work and to each other.

Spock learned quite a lot about his captain's childhood after two particularly grueling matches, both of which the half-Vulcan claimed victory.

"Your mother must be a remarkable woman," Spock commented as Jim started gathering the pieces together. The captain, not quite connecting the remark to anything just yet, chuckled.

"Yeah, she was," he said casually. "Best two out of three?"

"Indeed." The Vulcan watched as Jim began setting up for the new game. After a while, he continued, "The amount of patience she possessed must be… incredible."

Jim's fingers paused over a white pawn. That sounded strangely. . .

The captain looked up, astonished. "You're making fun of me!" he accused. His tone, though, was more pleased and surprised than actually accusatory.

Spock blinked innocently. "You are suffering delusions," he pointed out, calmly contemplating the board before him. But his mouth twitched, and the ghost of a smile Jim had been after for days appeared. The half-Vulcan glanced up, and for the most miniscule microsecond, Jim forgot to breathe.

_Oh, hell._

He didn't realize he was grinning like an idiot when the moment was over, when Spock's eyes had suddenly stopped doing their whole unexpectedly flustering-but-not-really teasing… thing. Manic grin still in place, Jim prodded his pawn forward.

"You should do that more often."

"To what are you referring to?" Spock replied, gracefully picking up a bishop and placing it on the second level of the board. Jim watched the pale fingers, contrasting sharply with the dark chess piece.

"Smile."

The fingers slowed. For the first time, at least after the establishment of their newfound friendship, Spock looked vaguely discomfited.

"Captain, Vulcans do not smile."

Bemused by the reaction he provoked, Jim frowned. "I know, but…" He took a knight and placed it on the third level. "You should do it anyway."

Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

"Humans smile with so little provocation," he said. "It is illogical." Carefully, he took one of his opponent's bishops.

Jim found he didn't mind one bit.

"Even if I do 'smile,' there is no valid reason for me to do it more frequently." Spock watched as Jim positioned his other bishop on the second level.

"Well," Jim told him simply, "you look good doing it."

He wondered if Vulcans blushed through the tips of their ears.

"That is… not a valid reason," Spock mumbled, eyes somewhere on the board. Jim grinned wickedly.

"So you say. Checkmate."

It was, all in all, a very satisfying chess match.


End file.
